Moderation?

I always hear that moderation is key and while I understand the logic, I struggle to abide by the mantra. That might be because I cannot recall anything I accomplished via moderation. Maybe it’s just the way I’m wired. I like extremes. I gravitate towards the most aggressive music and am more likely to praise an album if it has a high production value. I never cared for the “garage band” sound. Nicolas Cage is the apotheosis of acting for me. Go big or go home.

I think it’s the same with how I exercise, which is probably what gave me the name “Manimal” in my college days. I never argued that was a good thing. It’s somewhat masochistic, and I know it’s not a “key to longevity.” I tell myself I’ll dial things back but have yet to actually do it. Maybe this will be the year. After the Boston marathon, that is.

I did buy a new bike, a Cannondale Synapse 2, which I’m stoked to try out. I believe my road riding days are mostly over. Drivers scare me. I’ll stick to greenways and trails when possible. I liked the Synapse as a “do it all” bike that can handle most Missouri paths. Also, it’s lavender, and spring is near.

I want to lay off the running a little after this next marathon and enjoy more leisurely cycling. I spent much of 2024 rehabbing from overuse injuries and although I’m feeling fresh now, I’d rather not repeat the same mistake. I’d rather read books than devote another year to physical therapy. Famous last words…

My initial takes on some recent films:

Companion=Excellent

The Monkey=Mildly amusing

Heart Eyes = Brilliant opener, routine otherwise

Daylight Savings

The clocks will move back an hour on Sunday, meaning the sun will set at a later hour. I’m looking forward to that because a longer day is one of the first signs of spring. Budding flowers are soon to follow.

About a month ago I bought a season pass to Alamo Drafthouse cinema, my favorite movie theater chain. I’ve been seeing a lot more movies in theaters. It’s been nice returning to the weekly ritual of going to the movies. The theater feels as much like a home to me as any place I’ve lived.

Rock band Ghost released a new single, “Satanized,” which features an excellent chorus. “Save me from the monster that is eating me.” I have that line stuck in my head.

Regarding “dialing things back,” I’m looking to relax more in the upcoming months, especially after my next marathon. Exercise in particular can be a grind and it’s too easy to fall into the trap of asceticism, a trap laid well by the Protestant work ethic. Leisure is underrated. I aim to do more cycling, but “relaxed” cycling. Riding for the sake of getting fresh air.

I feel as though I’ve reunited with some of my old creative writing peers. Hopefully that provides some inspiration…

Old Strength, and Returning

I started a weekly strength training class called “Old Man Strength” (I guess I’ve finally attained the honors to join this class thanks to Father Time). It was great, I learned some new exercises and had the instructor correct a few bad habits I had on exercises I knew. I will definitely be sore tomorrow. I like that most exercises involved full range of motion, single leg balance, and power. That’s what I was looking for. In fact more important than strength, to me, is power. It’s actually power that typically diminishes at a faster rate than strength when you get past 40. Power is also a more useful tool, in my opinion. You break a brick with your fist primarily with power.

The class started at 7 am and lasted an hour. I had a rare meeting at 8 am and I said screw it, and I made bacon and eggs and ate them slowly instead. I want to enjoy a ritual, not shove food down my throat for the sake of moving forward. People who request meetings at 8 am should be tarred and feathered. A peaceful morning is sacred.

Nothing interesting playing at the cinemas. Squid Game season 2 started slow but I’m invested now that I’m on episode 4. I think the South Koreans are producing a lot of high quality cinema/television.

I hate that my smartphone always follows me around and seems to demand attention. They’re doing their best to become appendages. Nostalgic for the days of arriving home from school and roaming the local neighborhoods and parks at dusk. Maybe once free of the 9-5 I’ll find a way to minimize phone use. You can’t really think in a state of distraction.

Denzel said something along the lines of, “Youth is for learning, the middle is for earning, and the older years are for returning.” Maybe I’m old, or I’m returning a little early. I’m good with either of those.

Back and Forth

I went for a lunch run today because I couldn’t muster the willpower to get a long aerobic effort in before work. My cat woke me up fairly early anyways, as he always does. The second he sees me stir for a moment he seizes the opportunity.

The park where I usually run was covered in snow and ice. Kids were sledding down one of the steeper hills, and I wished that I had a sled at that moment. Instead I ran, back and forth, along a clear road. For some quality I ran at high intensity up an incline, and then jogged back down. I felt sluggish, which I expected after being snowed in the last few days. Back and forth, back and forth. We adults are too linear when there’s a hill to sled down just a quarter mile away.

I watched the movie The Quick and the Dead (1995), a star-studded revisionist western that few people know about. It was one of Russell Crowe’s and Leo DiCaprio’s earlier films (before Gladiator and Titanic). It starred Sharon Stone in the lead role as “The Lady,” who is essentially the female version of the Man with No Name.

Overall I liked the film and you can clearly see the Raimi influence on the gunfights. The classic cartoonish zoom into a wound that we saw countless times in Evil Dead films works very well here.

Most of what I read on the film described it as a “revisionist western” because the film places a female in the role typically assigned to a male. I don’t think it shatters the mold so much as offers a fun spin on it. Maybe “adjustment western” is more accurate. The viewing experience is more or less the same. It’s a good viewing experience though, and the cast and crew did a grew job making the movie.

Sharon Stone was convincing in the lead role, blending grit with vulnerability to add depth to her character. Leo/Russell are always great. Gene Hackman always thrives as a villain.

I wish the film spent more time with the other scoundrels in the gun contest. They were an interesting bunch, a mixture of thieves, assassins, and escaped convicts. But at under 2 hours the film could only do so much. Still, if I were to write a western film today it would tell their stories.

I’m one episode into Creature Commandos and so far it’s doing nothing for me. I didn’t laugh or find any of the characters particularly compelling. I thought Gunn nailed the humor and characters in his Suicide Squad and was surprised that I didn’t care for this one. I’ll watch a few more episodes and see if I change my mind.

Is the Grass Greener?

I have contemplated leaving the 9-5 grind for several years, or maybe since I first entered it, which is more than several years ago. I left it once for a China adventure, which is another story to tell. That was only a brief diversion though, and I eventually returned to the grind.

I fear leaving the grind because of the mantra, “the grass is always greener on the other side.” “Be careful what you wish for” is another way of putting it. Safety becomes a drug that the corporate worker becomes dependent on.

There are plenty of reasons to hate the grind and one can easily find a YouTube video that explains these reasons in good detail. It’s often soul crushing. You’re just a number. You’re a cog in the wheel. You’re exploited. Most of the relationships are shallow. They’ll replace you the second they can. Emails spur anxiety. Productivity is punished with more tasks, rather than rewarded the ability to create more. The tasks are mostly empty and meaningless. The list goes on.

So we find ourselves listless, sitting, staring at a screen, and wondering if this is really it.

And so many of us tolerate the grind because “at least we have that 401!” I’ve thought this and even said it out loud countless times. Or we stay in the grind because we’ve sunken so far in debt that we have no choice. Or because we’ve established a lifestyle that requires it. Or because we fear the removal of perks that we’ve become addicted to (it’s true, at least, that the 401k is an incredible thing).

Contemplating the risks of the present and future have often rendered me immobile for long periods of time, and I’ve been immobile on this decision for quite awhile. I imagine every possible scenario and live it in my mind. A calculated risk for me is often well calculated.

For example, let’s assume I leave the 9-5 grind with what I have now, and I have enough to coast to old age, and perhaps even to the end. What if I get a debilitating health condition in the later years and lack the funding to treat it? Funding that I would’ve had, if I stuck it out another two years in the 9-5 grind?

And yet, who’s to say just how much labor guarantees health security? The true answer, if one really thinks logically, is that insurance guarantees nothing. Society has told us that security is a purchasable commodity. It is this lie that strips us of the nearest thing to security: a healthy lifestyle.

If senility eventually overcomes me, does security even matter? If my mind is gone, my body might as well be too. And if I’m hit with a crippling physical malady? What use is a nice insurance package to life if I can’t go outside anyways?

Which of my fears are the most logical? Surely I’d at least have health insurance in old age to cover most of these morbid scenarios? But what if the cost escalates so high that I eventually cannot pay for it? And to counter this point, if I actually took care of myself, wouldn’t this be better insurance than even the best health insurance?

The greatest health insurance is a solid diet and routine movement. It doesn’t guarantee long life, but it increases the odds. A nice insurance package has significant drawbacks if one lives an unhealthy lifestyle. And the percentage of people living healthy lifestyles in the 9-5 grand is disturbingly low.

Most of my fears assume I would not make money after leaving the 9-5. I also know this to be false. Freelance work is more prevalent than ever.

So, there is an overall case for leaving. Most of my fears can be argued as illogical.

I’ve also slaved away for years already, storing as much as I can in order to no longer be dependent on long work hours. I’m approximately halfway through life, which arguably is too long to drudge away at meaningless tasks that satisfy only other people. I can see signs of this drudgery in the dark circles beneath my eyes and the overall exhaustion that often incapacitates me. I believe that broken people are chronically exhausted. The soul is mortally wounded and as a result, we drag ourselves, kicking and screaming, to perform every little task.

I seem to only recover on vacation, but the recovery doesn’t last as long these days.

I want to spend more of my life creating.

Creativity has a shelf life. We have a shelf life. The 9-5 tends to shake the hourglass violently enough that the sand falls faster. When is the right time to walk away? How much security is enough? These are questions we all must ask ourselves.

And then I ask myself again, as I imagine the glowing exit sign hanging over me as I walk out of the 9-5 grind for the last time: will the grass really be greener?

Snowed In

A snowstorm hit over the weekend and plastered snow and ice over everything, which is an excellent excuse to be idle at home.

I’ve been on an anime series kick lately after binging through 5 seasons of Demon Slayer. I drew a lot of parallels between this show and Star Wars (or, one could argue, the hero’s journey in general). Rengoku, featured in season 2, was clearly the narrative’s version of “Obi Wan”. That’s probably why he was one of my favorite characters. A screenwriter once told me that every great story has some sort of “Obi Wan” character in the narrative. I can see why, as there is profound drama in having a mentor sacrifice himself or herself in order to give the protagonist the necessary tools to complete a journey.

Yesterday my girlfriend and I played a full 30 rounds of Mario Party Jamboree on Switch, a game that lasted from noon to bedtime. It actually made for an excellent day.

If there’s one thing I’ve always strived for, it’s to keep an open mind to everything and admit when I’m wrong.

The latest example of me being wrong is regarding minimalist shoes. I’ve mentioned before, but over the previous spring I developed a chronic and debilitating case of plantar fasciitis. I was convinced that the solution was in minimalist footwear, and the cause was cushioned shoes. The months that followed proved me wrong (and proved the case much more complicated).

It wasn’t until I started visiting a chiropractor that I was able to fully clear out the plantar fasciitis. As it turned out, minimalist footwear was exacerbating the problem, though it was not necessarily the cause of the problem, which is a subject for another blog. I needed arch support from firm orthotics to prevent the plantar fascia from overstretching throughout the day. It’s difficult to heal a foot trauma when you’re a biped because walking is kinda important. I coupled the orthotic wear with foot strengthening exercises, prolonged calf stretches, and a decrease of running mileage. Over the course of weeks, I finally noticed significant healing. Over the past month I’ve participated in a few road races without any setbacks and consider myself fully functional now.

Human beings are highly adaptable to the environment. A few years ago I was bike commuting in winter weather. Back then I was adapted to the frigid air well enough to withstand just about any temperature. I’d arrive at the grocery store with icicles hanging from my chin hair, looking like some insane yeti on the hunt. This season I feel much more domesticated and I’m okay with that.

New Year, New Me?

2025 is the year of my 40th birthday, which I regard as approximately the halfway point of life. I’ve heard the optimistic types tell me that no, it’s not midlife! One should expect to live much longer than 80. To that I say, one should expect nothing, but a little hope is probably fine. Look at the median age in America: it’s right around 80, though it depends on a lot of factors. And the odds of maladies increase exponentially in the later years. I measure life by healthspan, not lifespan.

I’ve never been into resolutions and haven’t made any for 2025, though there are a few new habits I’d like to set (I consider it prioritizing, not goal setting):

• Creativity over profit. The problem with chasing “enough” money is that “enough” is a bottomless pit that can never be filled. It’s the closest thing to a vampire in the world today. It thirsts for blood, but each victim only temporarily satiates. I’d like to switch my view of money to a means of survival, not a means to meaning (not that I ever saw money as everything, but I do believe I let it dictate too many decisions the past few years).

• Sleep over screens.

• Self-belief over fear.

• Idle deep thought over task-oriented mindlessness.

• Newness over routine.

I’m sure there are other priorities I’d benefit in setting, but these are the first that come to mind.

A snowstorm is due in two days. The gaunt clouds overhead strangle the sun and paint the world in grays.

I went for a morning run that left my throat dry and ears numb. I finished the run feeling better. It’s a reminder that discomfort is refreshing.

Tonight I’ll buy some trailrunners so that I can hopefully run on snow next week.

The last film of 2024 I watched was Nosferatu. Hence the vampire metaphor. Beautiful cinematography, excellent acting, creepy narrative.

So long 2024… 40 is knockin’ on the door.

Grinding the Teeth

I am a chronic teeth grinder, especially while I sleep. So much so that I often wake up with headaches, and sometimes they’re intense enough to last for over an hour. For the second time I’ve managed to grind out the dental fillings in one of my teeth. The fillings of a third tooth are loosening and will likely break off soon. I literally ground my teeth with such pressure that the fillings popped right out.

It’s a problem that my stubborn sleep-self refuses to fix.

I’m not sure if you can meditate your way out of teeth grinding, but maybe I’ll try. Getting fillings at the dentist sucks enough that I’m going down the Google rabbit hole in search of a fix.

It may be a surprise to many because I’m usually calm by day. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of balancing things out. Light casts a shadow over every object.

I find myself thinking about death more often lately. Maybe it’s 40 approaching, which is approximately the midway point. Maybe it’s that I’m old enough to know people who have died, which inevitably happens if you live long enough. Then you mourn, process the moments that seemed so fleeting in retrospect, and find that life mercilessly moves on. Time doesn’t slow for their final moments, nor does society pause for your mourning. Your elders tell you not to wait for tomorrow for good reason.

I’m not scared of death, probably because I do think about it and recognize its inevitability. I see people around me who are my age or younger and are clearly terrified. Some dye their hair, get lifts or tucks, spend their free time searching for the latest anti-aging supplements, or pay for whatever hides the incurable decay that age inflicts. I’m good with all of it.

I’m also good to ride with time. It’s not like I have a choice. That doesn’t mean I won’t push my limits to the final moments. When Death does arrive, it’ll have to run me down and then keep swinging to the end of the final round. My University of Texas Swimming teammates used to say, “If you’re gonna beat Matt, it’s possible, but he’ll make you suffer for it.” That’s the attitude I want to take to the end.

But I do need to get a hold of this teeth grinding issue.

What is Terrifying?

There’s a lot of buzz surrounding the film Terrifier 3, which landed number 1 at the box office opening weekend. As someone who studies numbers closely that had me thinking, There must be something to this franchise that I’m missing. So, I streamed Terrifier 2 out of curiosity. Everything I read suggested you can skip the first one, which was thin on both narrative and budget, and jump straight to the sequel.

Most of the buzz surrounding the franchise centers on its gratuitous violence. The marketing seemed to dare audiences to sit through the third film “without vomiting.” That doesn’t appeal to me. It’s true that I love a good rollercoaster, but I get motion sick each time I ride. I either vomit or get close to vomiting. At least rollercoasters defy gravity though. The same feeling without the speed doesn’t seem pleasant.

But there must be something to these films! Critics and audiences seem to like them.

So I streamed part 2. The positives: good cinematography. Inventive dream sequences. Effective creation of nostalgia (I felt like I was both outside on Halloween night last week, and trapped somewhere in the ‘80s). Maybe one of the best musical scores I’ve heard in years (I’m a sucker for the 80’s style synth music). The actor playing Art the Clown did a great job at being scary and twisted. He’s creepy as hell. I’d be lying if I said the movie didn’t keep me interested.

The cons: too violent for me. I’ve gotta be honest, it crossed my limits. This film is downright repulsive and not in a good way. Maybe I’m too old for the gross stuff. If a film is going to be transgressive with its violence, I need a purpose somewhere. You could even argue the violence in silly sci-fi films like Starship Troopers serves a purpose (it emphasizes the lack of individuality in the grunt soldiers). But violence for the sake of being violent just isn’t funny or thrilling. There has to be a narrative weaving through the violence. I didn’t detect enough of one or really any message about anything other than “this clown is really bad!”

So yeah, there are good elements to the movie. There always are. Nothing is ever all good or all bad, it’s all on a spectrum. But there weren’t nearly enough good elements to get me interested in part 3.

Maybe it is age but I’d rather watch something silly and simple. I heard Happy Gilmore 2 is releasing next year. I’m much more excited for that than Terrifier 3.

Every Loss is an Advantage

There’s something to be said about the long-term benefits of losing.

I had a lot of second place finishes as an NCAA swimmer in college, both individually and as part of a team. I think that I would’ve become too complacent, had any of them been a win. Winning can give you a false sense of finality to life.

Instead it’s almost two decades later and I still get excited to exercise every morning. I still like to test my limits and compete. It’s all still fun to me.

This can be applied to anything in life. There’s nothing that softens someone like an easy victory. Bane said something about this before he broke Batman’s back in The Dark Knight Rises. “Victory has defeated you.”

One thing I enjoy about running is that I’m not the fastest. I just enjoy it. There’s no risk of victory defeating me.

Preferring It Darker

I just finished the recent Stephen King short story collection, You Like It Darker. It features some of King’s best work. “Rattlesnakes” was the standout story for me. The collection is aptly titled for its readers. Yes, I prefer fiction suffused with darkness.

I watched Smile 2 in theaters on Halloween night. It might’ve been the first film I’d seen in awhile that was too dark. It was downright nihilistic. I need a shred of hope for my characters, but they were given none. I can only take so much unease when I’m paying money for entertainment. That said, it’s a well-made film. I don’t know whether I enjoyed it or not.

I took a walk through my neighborhood yesterday, on Halloween, and a light breeze sent leaves showering over the world around me. Every organism needs to shed something occasionally. Watching the trees rid themselves of dead foliage, I thought about time, in general, and about how I’m approximately halfway through this thing called life, give or take a few years. And that’s being optimistic, assuming the millions of potential maladies don’t destroy me first.

What a brief time we have, I thought, and yet there are millions of organisms allowed much briefer time (and some lucky ones, such as the trees we walk by each day, that may still stand when our great grandkids are on their deathbeds).

When my mind veers that direction I think of the importance of prioritizing your own time. If you don’t, someone else will prioritize yours for you. And life’s too brief to allow much of that.

The Only Constant is Change

I was in the office building on a weekday morning hurrying towards the coffee lounge and feeling both lethargic and unmotivated when I ran into an old friend, Donald, whom I hadn’t spoken to in awhile. We’re in different departments.

Years back, while cycling to work, I’d often greet him on the road as he rode his e-bike to work. We biked to work in any condition: rain, sleet, and snow, it didn’t matter. I guess we were kindred spirits, the only two who did this regularly, with a story we shared and yet no one around us would ever understand. You get to know the other cyclists fast when there’s only a few of you in the area.

“You still riding the e-bike in?” I asked him.

“No. Not since they added the security gates,” he said. And neither have I. The gates occlude all of the easiest bike paths, leaving only a dangerous and high-traffic street as access to the building.

“I hate cycling on Campus Parkway,” I said. There are some drivers who would nonchalantly hit a cyclist if no one was around to see it.

“Yeah,” he said. “And my bike kept getting caught in the turnstile.” I hadn’t thought about that, as I hadn’t actually tried to carry my bike through. The irony is there’s actually a bike rack inside the security gates, but it’s now impossible to get a bike to it!

“I miss those days, cycling in. The world slows down for you.”

“And you feel like you can do anything. People say it’s impossible, but you do it anyways.”

“You bike to work when it’s sleeting and your hands are numb, and you’re thinking what the hell is wrong with me. But you also know that you can struggle and win.”

I miss those days, seeing Donald on the road as dawn winks at the horizon and slowly eviscerates the darkness. However, the only constant is change, and that chapter has closed. I realize that I’ll probably never see Donald on the road again and feel melancholy.

An e-mail circulates about a company “green initiative,” and the “need to recycle!” I think about Donald, unable to carry his e-bike through the security gate’s turnstiles, and I think about how everyone looked at us as lunatics when we parked our bikes in the morning.

Payback

I had a dream in which I was able to thank someone, for something that person helped me with in high school. I never actually had the time or maturity to say thanks to that person when it would’ve mattered most, and the dream seemed to give me some form of closure in the form of a hug and a thanks.

It was one of those reminders that it isn’t the things we said that we regret the most; it’s the things we didn’t say.

On the commute to work, I didn’t realize a button popped off my shirt until I arrived. No use driving back, so I decided to “Burt Reynolds” the day. I then ordered some thread and a sewing needle. Looks like I’ll be picking up a life skill soon. Better late than never.

There is only a week left of Oktoberfest and it pains me that I’ve been dry the entire month, mostly due to the Chicago Marathon, which I ran on October 13th. That should change shortly.

I have a story idea or two, and a thousand excuses not to transfer thoughts to pages. “Life is busy” is the main excuse. Well, life only gets busier…

Square One

Sometimes the best path forward is backward, one of those paradoxes you’d think only exist in a Lewis Carroll story. I’m not just taking a step backward these days. I’m sprinting towards what once was, but hasn’t been, but potentially could be again, if one resists the natural ebb and flow of things and swims toward the maelstrom.

I think of time and how deceiving and malicious it can be if one isn’t careful. Age 10 was both yesterday and three decades ago. A 10-year-old’s idea of sprinting down a sandy hill for the sake of feeling a cool breeze on the cheeks and the adrenaline rush of raw speed was enough to try something that an adult would consider dumb (because it’s unsafe, of course). A tumble and scraped knees were worth it. I think of trying to skateboard and drink coffee at the same time, and failing spectacularly at both.

Contrast that to adulthood, when movement is mostly calculated. We are tethered to a beaten path, a watch, a pace, and a “goal.” Even the trails are a set number of miles, a metric. The daily walk stays on a flat sidewalk, perfectly smooth, manufactured for the sake of comfort, a number of steps that a doctor says must be “hit.” Walking for the sake of “exercise.” Movement is a chore; you’re either sitting robotically or walking robotically. What adult yearns to hang upside down and study the clouds?

I try to find the spontaneous boy who thrived in random chaos. That person, I think, was waiting patiently, not dead but just in hibernation.

I go out on a brisk fall morning and run barefoot in the park. A few random sprints with no set interval or time, just the rush and fast twitch muscles activating. I wander through neighborhoods I hadn’t seen before and study the halloween decor in the lawns.

I drive to work listening to what I used to consider 90’s trash, Limp Bizkit, and think a metal show sounds like a great idea, just losing oneself in music, aggressive and fast music, cathartic music, anti-establishment stuff with machine-gun guitar riffs and banshee vocals.

It seems preferable to another day with a prescribed routine: a day that slashes routine to pieces.

We have a pumpkin painting activity at work, for team building, so I paint Art the Clown, the evil killer clown from the Terrifer films. Everyone else paints happy faces or just writes inside work jokes. Nothing left for wonder or awe.

I doubt I won the contest, but I know I created a nightmare or two.

The Fall Vistas

Practically every vista looks beautiful in fall, when the flame-like foliage seems to engulf everything.

I think of the “flames of youth” and yet the fall seems to contradict this. The blazing fall colors are signs of life withering away, not overflowing.

It seems fitting that fall is such a transient season. The trees shed themselves hurriedly and afterwards it seems that winter lingers forever. I wonder if this is how life is or if the remaining seasons all pass by in a blink.

I think of this and remind myself of the importance of my own mind and memory, because without them it would eventually be as though none of this had ever happened.

Sound Mixing Can’t Make It…

But inept sound mixing can break an album.

I was reminded of this while first listening to the new Nightwish album, Yesterwynde. The vocals are nonsensically drowned out by symphonic metal melodies, and yet the guitars still fail to “crunch” like they do in better Nightwish albums. The album needs more voice and guitar, balance be damned.

As a result I find the album to be an “elevator music” type of experience.

It brings to mind my thoughts on the Slayer discography. Though Reign in Blood is arguably the best album compositionally, I’ve met several first-time Slayer listeners who prefer the more recent Christ Illusion. The production values of the latter are far superior. A budget goes a long way. That’s not to say that Reign in Blood is bad, just that the album is sonically less immersive by today’s standards. Again, the machine-gun riffs “crunch” more crisply on Christ Illusion. and it makes the album more immersive.

So why was Yesterwynde mixed so poorly? I can only guess that those in charge of the album’s vision prioritized a “balanced sound.” The problem with this approach is that balance rarely if ever leads to artistic greatness. Creative minds are typically unbalanced because it’s only in the realm of insanity that creativity can thrive, which is why any impactful band will choose to live there.

So that is one of several reasons why one listen of Yesterwynde was enough for me. I’ll take Imaginaerium over that album any day.

The Dream Within a Dream

I had a dream in which I could fall asleep and dream a different past for myself. When I woke from this dream within a dream, it would manifest into a new reality.

All I had to do was fall asleep and dream, and I’d wake up in a different city, with a different job and a different lifestyle.

I quickly became addicted to the newness of it all and soon barely found myself awake. I was in a constant hurry to fall back asleep and dream, and see what different life would unfold.

Every moment brought a new family, new love, new hobby, and new addiction. One moment I was a workaholic, the next an alcoholic.

I think this dream was telling me something about the dangers of always chasing newness.

Hurried Driver

Veering the steel cage around a slower steel cage, breathless, frantic, throat clenches, phone tethered to hand (who texted me?), a white rabbit racing. I have somewhere I must be! Panic overwhelms the mind, foot on the pedal presses forever downward, yes I must be faster, traffic could destroy me if I don’t act rash. Slurp the latte, fight for a parking space near the building. Ten seconds to spare, the morning is a game of inches! Breaths at last. Rinse and repeat. Freedom via the car. Maybe it needs an upgrade. A raise would permit that. It will have more space, better mileage. Touch screen linked to the cloud, GPS showing the way.

What Dreams May Come

I had a dream last night in which it was dusk on some isolated and vacant beach, and I was at the shoreline, lying face-down on my stomach, belly against wet sand.

Waves brushed me and foamed around me as I stared at a fading scarlet sun and watched the water darken. My mouth was just elevated enough to prevent choking on water. I had nowhere to go and nothing to become, but I felt a satisfaction regardless.

I woke before dawn and thought that if I could make my life that still, it would be an accomplishment.

Laszlo the Great and Powerful

My girlfriend and I adopted a kitten about a month ago and named him “Laszlo,” after my favorite character from the TV series What We Do in the Shadows.

I learned that his breed is “Scottish straight” (British shorthair father and Scottish fold mother). The straight signifies that his ears are straight, not folded. His eyes are sky blue and his tail has been forming some cute black rings that swirl around his white fur.

I got a cat because they’re generally lower maintenance than dogs, so it’s been a pleasant surprise that he’s also affectionate. He wanted to sleep in the bed from night one, and has done so every night since.

He’s very vocal and provides a wide variety of “meows” throughout the day. My best guess is that the common ones mean “I’m hungry,” “I’m annoyed,” “I’m tired,” “I want attention,” and “I want to play.”

He sometimes sleeps with his toys and routinely cuddles with me on the couch at night while I play Nintendo Switch.

He loves staring out the window and studying the outside world. He might be plotting how he’ll slaughter every bird on this planet.

Rain seems to amaze him and his eyes widen at the formation of puddles on the outside street.

That youthful awe when seeing things for the first time!

We were worried at first because he limped around the apartment his first two weeks. We feared it might be Osteochondrodysplasia, which I learned is a common disease among Scottish folds.

However it turned out he somehow ripped off a nail, which caused the limp. It since grew back and he’s walking/running/climbing/jumping well now. He chases his bird toys with a renewed vigor.

He’s a very chill little dude for a 4-month-old kitten!